Reunion

The surface is so smooth and unbroken.
Surely, a dark, empty, deep lies beneath.
He arches his back, and dives into the blackness,
Then silently sinks into the void.

Weightlessly he rises to the surface,
Among swirling ebony-edged, rainbow ripples.
His head is heavy with sparkling gems and pearls;
His heart is heavy with shadows and tears.

He gathers them in and reshapes them,
He absorbs them, he engorges them;
AND HE IS REBORN IN THEM!
Yet, somehow, he still feels incomplete.

He can't see, he can only feel.
Someone bumps him, and blindly reaches toward him,
And, too, he reaches out, for what is a poet without a reader,
And what is a reader without a poem.

by Mary Naylor

Comments (1)

I agree that poetry is essentially a performance. It is our choice to give ourselves away in words. There will be a reader somewhere, someplace who will applaud such generosity. As I do now, Mary. Encore! Always your friend, Love, Sandra